


Hundreds of Miles

by wristrocket



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wristrocket/pseuds/wristrocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>friends forever, or at least until convenience allows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunwukong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwukong/gifts).



> _i won't run, i won't fly_   
>  _i will never make it by_   
>  _without you_

Mizael’s always been an easy cryer. He cries when he’s happy, he cries when he’s excited, he cries when he’s angry and he cries when he’s sad. So when he shows up at Durbe’s house that morning with a handful of acceptance letters, asking him where he’s thinking of going, and he replies with a casual “Probably just Heartland State”, Durbe knows exactly where the conversation is heading. There’s about a split-second where Durbe thinks he’s gotten away with it, before all thoughts of mercy are dispelled by the nasty scowl on Mizael’s face.

And then it starts.

“Why Heartland State?” Mizael’s voice has risen to an angry shout, “Why not Astral U or even U of Heartland?”

Durbe shrugs, “Didn’t apply to those.”

Mizael just blinks slowly. When he speaks again, his face is blank and his voice is uncharacteristically even, “Then where did you apply?”

“Heartland State.”

There’s a stretch of silence where Mizael is clearly waiting for him to continue, but when he doesn’t Mizael’s facial expression changes again. His nostrils flare (delicately) and his cheeks start to colour with the effort of trying hard not to cry.

Durbe never knows what to do when Mizael starts to cry. In their youth, he’d tried to comfort him, and stop the waterworks from the younger boy but that always worked about as well as Durbe’s efforts to de-stress Mizael during test-heavy periods. That is to say, not very well at all.

Seconds stretch into unbearable minutes as they sit across from each other at the kitchen table, stewing in their tense silence. Durbe knows he should have told Mizael, but it never came up and when it came down to it was it really any of Mizael’s business where he did or didn’t go to school? He knew the answer to that one, but if was honest with himself then he’d also have to admit that he was kind of a terrible friend and he really didn’t want to deal with that right now.

It’s at least five minutes before Mizael clears his throat daintily. Durbe starts, clearly zoned out when he should have been sweating under the accusatory stare of his best friend. He opens his mouth to say something, but draws a blank. He really doesn’t have an excuse. He might not be the best student, but his grades were at least good enough to get into a better local college. It just hadn’t occurred to him to try for something better. A degree is a degree is a degree after all, isn’t it?

Mizael clears his throat again and Durbe’s attention snaps back to the blonde, “Why didn’t you tell me you only applied to Heartland State?”

“It never came up,” Durbe shrugs easily, but the excuse sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

Mizael’s brows furrow and his face starts to scrunch up like one of those ugly wrinkly dogs and before Durbe knows it Mizael is yelling again.

“You’re deplorable, you know that? The absolute worst! Do you know how hard people work just to understand the shit that comes so easily to you? The least you could do is appreciate what you have! You could at least pretend to care!”

Mizael swipes an arm across his face and the sleeve comes away with a dark wet streak. Durbe just stares at Mizael’s, an arm shielding his eyes from view at all times, and listens to the familiar soft sniffling of his crying friend. He watches a few stray tears drip from Mizael’s chin and hit the wooden top of his kitchen table, unable to come up with any comforting words. To be honest, he hadn’t really thought that it would be this big of a deal. But, of course, everything with Mizael was this big of a deal. Though it’s not until the gross, loud, snotty snivel that Durbe realizes exactly how big of a deal this particular situation was to Mizael.

“Hey,” Durbe tries, but his throat feels dry and the word comes out cracked.

Mizael sniffs again, wetly.

“Hey,” Durbe tries again, reaching forward to remove the arm covering his face.

The other arm immediately goes to replace the first. Durbe sighs deeply and pulls the other arm away too. Mizael huffs and turns his head to the side, still trying to maintain an air of anger despite the wet streaks on his cheek.

“Hey Miza...”

This time Mizael answer with a forceful, “What!”

“Why is this such a big deal?” Durbe asks the side of Mizael’s face, “You know it’s only three- four years tops and then you’ll be back here again anyways.”

There’s only soft sniffling for a reply and then Mizael’s tugging his wrists out of his grip. Durbe lets them go, there’s really not much more he can do if Mizael isn’t going to have an open conversation with him. Mizael wipes his face with his sleeve again and when it comes away, there’s a long line of snot that comes away with it. Durbe resists the urge to make a face.

“It’s just that if I go everything will change,” Mizael’s still looking down at the table, his voice almost too soft to hear, “We won’t be friends anymore. We’ll drift apart.”

“What!?” The shock in Durbe’s voice is genuine, “What are you you even saying!?”

There’s another wet snivel and Mizael looks up, eyes red from crying.

He’s all but wailing now, “We don’t have anything in common. All I ever do is yell at you to do your homework. I don’t even know how to make my little person walk on your computer games!”

Durbe doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s it’s really not a tone befitting of an AP student and Lacrosse star to boot. It’s all he can do to not outright laugh, “Don’t be silly! We can still be friends. You can definitely still yell at me to do my homework. But as for Starcraft, I don’t think you’ll ever get it. We should probably just give up on that one.”

“Maybe I should just stay here and go to Heartland State too-”

At that, Durbe does laugh. Loudly.

“Good one.”

“I know it’s late, but with my grades they should still accept me as a late applic-”

Durbe physically launches himself across the table and slaps a hand over Mizael’s mouth, “Are you serious!? Don’t go to Heartland State. You’ll hate it there! Go to UBS, it’s all you’ve been talking about for the past year and a half. It’s fancy and snooty and overseas, you’ll love it there. You’ll fit right in.”

Mizael doesn’t look convinced, “You’ll forget me.”

Durbe rolls his eyes, “I won’t. Anyways, who’s to say you won’t forget me?”

Mizael knits his brows together and stares intently back at him, “I won’t.”

“Promise me you’ll go to University of Barian Shit or whatever,” Durbe breaks eye contact to look at the very interesting spot on the wall right next to Mizael’s ear.

He shrugs, “Fine.”

“Fine,” Durbe breaks into a small relieved smile.

Mizael doesn’t smile, but he gets up and tucks his chair in neatly, “I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah,” Durbe calls after him, already thinking about a nap, “see you later.”


	2. He Won't Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're both children in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _so petrified, i'm so scared to step into this ride_   
>  _what if i lose my heart and fail the climb?_   
>  _i won't forgive me if i give up trying_

It reads 2:34 AM in bold white text across the screen when Mizael hits the home button on his phone.

The last time he checked it was 2:28 AM.

Six minutes.

At least the time hadn’t read 2:32 AM which would have made it four minutes since the last check. But that’s not saying much since that was exactly how many minutes he’d waited to check between 2:24 AM and 2:28 AM.

Mizael looks down at his AP physics textbook and reads the same sentence for the eighth time in a row. He makes it halfway through the next sentence before he gets distracted and hits the home button on his phone again.

2:37 AM

So much for his record (and still no text).

Sighing deeply, he presses his cheek against the permeability of free space and stares listlessly at the framed photograph on his desk. It’s a picture of him and Durbe from when they were twelve, on a rollercoaster. Durbe had insisted that they ride the thing despite not quite being tall enough and against every single one of Mizael’s wishes.

“It’s okay if you’re scared,” Durbe had teased him, “Just tell me and we don’t have to ride it.”

“Shut up, I’m not scared!” Mizael had retorted angrily, stomping onto the cart and strapping himself in tightly, “Are you coming or what?”

The result of course hadn’t been pleasant, but Mizael would have never admitted it had it not been for that cursed picture. Mizael screaming and crying with his eyes squeezed shut and Durbe making the victory sign at the camera. If it were up to Mizael he would have destroyed it, but Durbe had insisted on spending his meager allowance on the overpriced print. For that reason alone, Mizael could not bring himself to set it on fire like it so deserved.

Mizael feels something wet at the corner of his mouth and it takes him a few seconds before he shoots up in his chair. Shit. Is he drooling? Scowling, he dabs at the corner of his mouth with his sleeve and frowns at the wet spot it leaves. He hits the home button again. 2:55 AM still no text. Did he doze off? He can’t remember.

He contemplates reading over his notes before going to bed (it is his last high school exam after all) but when his eyes blur after the first formula, he shuts his notebook and drags himself into the bathroom. There’s time to cram in the morning.

\-----

Mizael isn’t there in the morning when Durbe goes to his house to pick him up for school. In all of the years that they’ve been doing this Durbe can only remember Mizael not being there three times and three of those times were because Durbe was more than five minutes late and Mizael had gotten impatient and left without him.

Durbe checks the time on his phone. He’s not late.

It takes him almost three minutes of idly standing outside Mizael’s house for him to realize that he’d forgotten to reply to every single one of the seven texts that Mizael had sent over the course of last night. Durbe groans inwardly, he’d meant to reply. He really had, but he kept being the middle of a raid and then he would forget until the next text. By the time he’d shut down his laptop, Mizael would have already been asleep.

He thinks about replying but opts to try and catch Mizael on the way to school instead. Failing that, he’ll wait outside Mizael’s classroom until he finishes his exam.

\-----

Durbe’s asleep, sitting against the wall across from the classroom when Mizael gets out of his exam. His arms are curled around his backpack protectively and a small river of drool is leaking from the corner of his mouth onto his backpack. Mizael blinks, more than a little surprised that Durbe was waiting, for him. More often than not Mizael is the one waiting on Durbe.

Walking across the hall, Mizael stares down at his sleeping friend, “Durbe.”

No reply.

Sighing, he gently taps the tip of shoe against Durbe’s ribcage, “Hey, wake up.”

When there still isn’t a reply, Mizael drives the tip of shoe into Durbe’s ribs. Hard. Until he wakes up with a painful yelp.

“ _What do you think you’re doing?_ ”

“Don’t sleep in the hallways, it’s a fire hazard, ” Mizael rolls his eyes and starts to walk away.

“Come on,” Durbe scrambles to his feet and follows after him, it was obvious that Mizael was still angry about something, “Don’t be like that! I’m sorry I didn’t text you back last night. It was better anyways. You had to study right?”

Mizael whips around and stares Durbe dead in the eyes, “You think this is about you not texting me back? You never text me back!”

Durbe takes Mizael by the wrist and pulls him into a secluded nook in the hallway before continuing, a little worried that this might lead to a public crying fit, “Then what is it about?”

“This trip is important!”

It takes Durbe a second to zone in on the trip Mizael was referring to. But it’s a second too long and Mizael’s frown had deepened.

“You forgot?”

“What? No way!” Durbe lies, “I was just thinking about how you’re scared of rollercoaters.”

“I’m not scared, I just don’t like them, ” Mizael is scowling now, “Anyways you like them so it’s fine.”

Durbe laughs, “Does that mean you forgive me?”

Mizael nods begrudgingly.

“Do you want to head to my place and do all the research on hotels and stuff that you didn’t get to do last night?”

“I have plans. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Mizael suddenly pulls his wrist free, leaving Durbe blinking after him.

\-----

It isn’t until 8:00 PM (when durbe is playing League of Legends) that Durbe hears from Mizael again.

“`Do you want to come over?`”

Durbe considers finishing what he’s doing but immediately reconsiders when he remembers the look on Mizael’s face from earlier today. It definitely isn’t fun to be on the receiving end of Mizael’s anger, however brief.

Quickly, he taps back a reply, “`yea b over in 15`”

\-----

Mizael’s being a lot more fidgety than usual. Durbe’s not sure if he has to pee, or if he has something to say or what but the constant picking at his nails and but wiggling that has been going on for the past half-hour is making Durbe’s eye twitch. He’s just about to tell him to spit it out already when Mizael finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Um,” Mizael avoids eye contact and doesn’t continue.

Durbe sighs deeply, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Mizael looks everywhere in the room but at him, “Actually. No, nevermind.”

“Oh my god,” Durbe puts both hands on either side of Mizael’s head and barely refrains from shaking, “Just tell me. You’re going to tell me eventually anyways so why not now?”

Mizael looks down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap and Durbe almost feels bad enough to apologize for yelling. Almost. As in, not quite.

It takes another minute but Mizael finally speaks in barely a whisper, “So you know Heartland State?”

Durbe nods, not quite sure where this is going. Did he blow it up? Did he vandalize the campus?

“Well,” There’s a long pause, “I was accepted.”

Mizael forces a smile and holds up the acceptance letter.

“What?” Durbe can feel the blood vessels in his eyeball pulsating a little, “You promised.”

“Actually I never said ‘I promise’,” Mizael shrugs.

Durbe nearly screams in frustration, “Are you six!? That’s not how promises work! I’m not a genie and you weren’t making wishes! We promised never to break a promise or does that promise not count anymore either?”

Mizael shrugs again but doesn’t say anything. Durbe makes a grab for the letter.

“Give it to me. There’s no way you’re going to Heartland State.”

Mizael moves the letter out of reach and smirks.

“No.”

“Miza, I swear to God I’ll-”

“What? You’ll jump for it?” He stands up on the bed and waves the letter over Durbe’s head.

Durbe growls and takes a few steps back.

“What are you do-”

Durbe tackles Mizael to the bed by his knees and knocks the words right out of him. Mizael squirms and struggles to hold the letter out of reach even as Durbe is crawling over him to get to it.

“Stop that!”

“Give it to me, then!”

“No! Get off of me!”

They wrestle on the bed over the acceptance letter until the piece of paper is wrinkled beyond recognition and Durbe is all but sitting on Mizael’s chest.

Durbe rips the letter out of Mizael’s grip and shreds it with his hands, “Ah ha! Got it! I Win!”

There’s a few moments of silence before Durbe realizes what he’s done, but when he does an uncontrollable laughter bubbles up from inside him. Mizael catches on and starts to laugh as well. The two of them lay beside each other holding the ripped letter between both their hands and laughing until Mizael’s mother knocks on the door and opens it to peak inside.

“Mizael?” She speaks in her native tongue, “Are you boys okay?”

“Yes mama,” Mizael replies, “We’re fine.”

She smiles and closes the door behind her.

Durbe and Mizael look at each other and split into wide grins. Not unlike Durbe’s smile from the photo on MIzael’s desk.

“So,” Durbe starts, hand still in Mizaels.

“Sooo,” Mizael echos.

“Promise you’re going to go to your fancy Barian school in the UK,” Durbe’s face is as earnest as it’ll ever be.  
Mizael takes a moment to let it sink in.

“I promise I’ll go to my fancy Barian school in the UK.”

“Good,” Durbe smiles, satisfied with the proper promise.

“We're not going to school together next year...” Mizael says, more to himself than Durbe.

Durbe doesn’t reply. That’s a whole new can of worms he’s going to let future Durbe deal with.


End file.
